


Claim Your Humanity

by gaialux



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Breathplay, Community: kink_bingo, Fighting Kink, M/M, PWP, Rough Body Play, Rough Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 13:40:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, this is where it starts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Claim Your Humanity

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the DW kinkbingo square of "rough body play". This fic contains violence (including breathplay) which leads to (consensual) sex. Some spoilers for throughout season 4.
> 
> Supernatural does not belong to me. This piece of fiction was written for entertainment purposes only, no profit is gained.

Sometimes this is where it starts. With a flying fist that hits Sam square in the mouth, and he’s tasting blood even before he realises just what’s happened and how to regain his awareness.

When the second punch comes, he’s more aware and squares his stance to keep from falling, but he's still not fast enough to block his face and Dean's knuckles collide again. This time it's his nose that receives most of the damage, and there's more blood mixing and tinting across his hands and he can feel it dripping down his face.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he yells, voice awkward and nasal because, yeah, he's probably got a disfigured nose at this point.

"Hit me." Dean's voice isn't anywhere near as loud as Sam's, it actually sounds pretty fucking monotone. Like he's telling Sam to go do research or grab them some burgers. Like it's something that happens everyday.

"I'm not gonna hit you," Sam says, voice still distorted. He grabs at his nose and looks up at the darkening sky to try and stop the bleeding. Hurts like a bitch, too, and his whole mouth is aching.

"Hit me." Louder, more forceful, but just like mentioning something from a shopping list.

"Dean, what the fuck--"

And then he can't finish that question, because Dean's at him again, this time with leg around his knee, squeezing tight until Sam feels himself overbalancing and lands on his ass in the dirt, more blood spewing forth from his nose and dripping around his face. Dean is standing above him, with a smile on his face that's anything but friendly.

Sam still has no idea what brought this all on, but it doesn't stop him from swinging out his foot and catching Dean's ankle, yanking it back toward him, and Sam really didn't think this through because all of Dean's body weight collides onto all of his bones.

Dean needs no recovery time. His arms come up and twist around his neck, slowly tightening, that smile still on his face. Sam is just trying to breathe around the taste of blood in his mouth and blood burning in his eyes.

"Hit me, Sammy," he says, and this time it comes out like an order. Sharp and focused, and reaching Sam's pounding ears.

"No," he gasps out from the small amount of breath still left in his lungs.

Dean's grip tightens and all that surrounds Sam is blood, sticky and congealing on the corners of his mouth and he tries to spit but his muscles aren't working anymore. The blood just sits on his tongue and the taste is vile and bitter, mixing with the inability to breathe and gasps he's trying to make. Dean won't kill him...will he?

"Hit! Me!" He yells it, both words separated and allowed time to bounce off the nearby trees and perforate Sam's skull. They bounce around, allowing just a split second to forget about the blood and his burning throat and lungs. With the last piece of strength he has, Sam raises a fist and slams it into the side of Dean's face.

Dean's hands drop away and Sam sucks in cool air, swallowing most of the blood as well and coming close to gagging. There's nausea welling up in his stomach and at any other time he'd probably be hurling, but right now it's all been replaced with this surging adrenaline coursing throughout his body and Sam doesn't know if he could stop himself even if he tried.

It's like a new form of demon blood.

The next punch hits Dean's side, most likely a kidney, and sends him rolling across the ground with a low groan. For a moment Sam's struck with the thought that, hey, maybe he shouldn't be doing this, but something else is stronger and he lunges after Dean, gripping his legs and pulling them toward each other.

Despite all the hitting, all the punching, all the blood he can still feel on his face and taste on his tongue, there's only one thing Sam's intent on finding and that's Dean's mouth. He slams them together, heedless of anything so unimportant like softness or sweetness or whatever the fuck else they always kiss like, and probably pushes a whole heap of blood down Dean's throat. Not that Dean seems to care, because he's arching up to Sam now and a moan escapes through the small space between their lips.

There's a knife in Dean's pocket, and Sam fishes it out, hand lingering on his ass until he's sure Dean knows exactly what's about to happen. The look on Dean's face tells him that he really doesn't care. Fuck, it tells him that Dean  _wants_ this. Maybe that's the point of this whole, stupid setup.

He pulls the butterfly knife out and holds it in front of Dean's face, flicking it open. The blade glistens in the last few dwindles of the setting sun, and maybe this would be romantic at any other time. Right now is not that time.

Sam's slow as he runs the blade across Dean's pants, careful to cut only denim and never skin, and he can hear Dean's breath hitching with every inch it slides down. He wonders if Dean's as scared as he was with fingertips digging into his neck and sucking out all the air. 

When his fingers start shaking too much - curse fucking  _caring_ \- he throws the knife away and kisses away any protest Dean might make about it. There's nobody here, the knife's not going anywhere, and what Sam has in mind is going to make Dean forget all about that fifty-dollar blade.

He's back to fast motions and tears away most of Dean's jeans. Enough, at least, to get to his rock hard cock that's already dripping precome. He shimmies down from his own jeans, whacking Dean's hand away when he attempts to help, and then starts kissing him again with that same intensity of someone both dying and attacking at the same time.

It's just as twisted as them.

"Fuck--" Dean manages to articulate, and that's just what Sam has in mind.

Right here, right now, with blood still drying on his face and the taste still tainting his lips. It's only now that he really  _looks_ at Dean and sees his blood there, smeared across his brothers lips and with fingerprint marks on his cheeks. That sight,  _God_ , it's so fucked up but it sends a jolt straight down to his cock and hardens him in a way he never thought possible.

"Yeah, Dean,  _fuck_."

He presses two fingers into his mouth because there's nothing else for it, and then presses into Dean. Dean hisses and tries to move away, but Sam's got one hand held fast to his hip, digging him into the ground and he's not going anywhere fast.

"You wanted me to hit you," Sam says, leaning close to Dean. "I'm hitting you."

He thinks he hears Dean gulp.

Sam twists his fingers up and Dean moves again, but this time it's toward him, pressing back as his hands grip fistfuls of dirty and dying grass. His eyes are squeezed tight and his tongue presses between his lips, swiping over the blood still there.

Sam just about comes from the sight.

He's not gonna be able to make this any better and pulls his fingers out, Dean letting out another hiss because his brother never can make up his mind, and when his eyes open to the world again there's this hunger to be found and mixed with it, maybe, a dare. Like Dean's  _daring_ Sam to fuck him. Stupid bastard.

Sam's slow, almost non-existent movements until Dean's hand strikes up and connects with his neck again. He's un- _fucking_ -believable. Sam moves into him, and Dean lets out a gasp he's sure can be heard across the state line, the hand falling to slump back onto the ground.

Sam finds his mouth again, focusing only on lips and tearing out more blood between them. Dean's just as vicious, the kiss turning into all teeth and tongue and lips and blood, blood that's going to be anywhere if the lack of friction is to go by. Rough and brutal, yet when Sam moves back Dean moves toward him, face burying itself into Sam's letting and letting forth a string of curses that soon join with little moans and whimpers that sends shock waves up-and-down Sam's spine.

All of it, but Sam still wants  _more_. His hands move from Dean's hips to his shoulders and pull, forcing Dean away from his neck and back onto the ground where his head is thrown back with a thud. Sam just holds him there, watching his face, not letting him move as he thrusts in sharp, deliberate strokes.

"Sam..." Dean's saying, voice broken and without breathe. " _Sam_."

He moves his hands to the ground, digging into the dirty and getting more traction, more friction, as he slams harder into Dean. Dean's moving beneath him, hips rising now he's not being held back, matching every move Sam puts into him. Dean's fingers grip his arm again, back to digging in, and there's every chance more blood is being shared between them.

It spurs Sam on.

Dean's hips become erratic, losing their perfect momentum as Sam knows he's getting close, mouth connecting to his shoulder and he can't tell if it's a kiss or a bite he's trying to put there, but he wants it all the same. His hands grip tighter, pulling up roots, and there's one more thrust before Dean stiffens against him and lets out a single, low groan as his cock pulsates and releases against Sam's stomach.

Sam's not far behind at all, cracking and falling apart inside Dean, leaning down to catch his mouth again, their teeth hitting as he rides out the orgasm, slowing his hips until they're small, languid strokes. He drops forward and Dean lets out a soft "oof". Sam can't bring himself to care, not after all the punching and biting.

"Crazy bastard," he pants. Sam feels like he'll never be able to find his breath again, and right now that sounds one-hundred-percent fine to him.

"We gotta do this again."


End file.
